Broken Teacups
by Celtic Bard
Summary: Reincarnation is not all that it is cracked up to be, and Erestor happens to discover something he shouldn't have... slash
1. Revelation

**Notice: This story is slash. That means characters of the same gender in a romantic relationship. If you object to this, hit the 'back' button and do not read.**

Title: Broken Teacups (Part 1?)  
Author: Celtic Bard  
Pairings: Glorfindel/Erestor  
Rating: PG-13  
Warning: Mentions of suicide (NON-graphic)  
Notes: Chapters 1-5, originally published June 2004-January 2005, have been edited both for content and to comply with ffn's new standards (no replies to reviews within chapters, etc.) and re-uploaded as of March 2006.  
Summary: Reincarnation isn't all that it's cracked up to be, and Erestor happens to discover something he shouldn't have…

This takes place around 1100 Third Age.

* * *

You are troubled.

I know this, and yet you appear to have no idea. How? I always know… I have always known. You, however, seem to be content to go about your life with your concealing façade safely in place and never let anyone see your problems. Not even yourself, I should think…

I see, though. How can I not? From the moment you first arrived, you caught my eye. Not through your looks (though, admittedly, they are impressive) or even your rapier-like wit and the charm that you use to make sure that your mask never falls out of place (in public, anyway). Rather, I saw your sorrow. I saw the subtle restless melancholy lurking beneath your painstakingly polished surface, a surface you had constructed to keep said melancholy from breaking free.

But barriers, especially self-made ones, are not infinitely strong. They all break eventually, even yours. Yes, even yours. I wonder what will happen when they do…

* * *

Glorfindel stood near the edge of the roof and surveyed the stars with a bittersweet expression upon his face. So beautiful, the stars… but so cold, too. So distant…

He looked down at the Bruinen below him. It would be the last thing that he would see in this lifetime, for he had chosen to go this way, to fall. He had fallen to his death before, yes, but this time was different.

This time there would be no searing heat, no burning flames that engulfed him fully through to his soul and charred the very air about him and turned living flesh into nothing more than dead black ash. This time there would be only the cool caress of the night against his skin, and, perhaps, the stinging nip of impact as he hit the water.

After that, Glorfindel reasoned, the shock to his body from the fall would render him unconscious and he would be aware of nothing as he drowned.

He closed his eyes and drew one last breath of the sweet, summery-scented air, and prepared to take a step forward and bring an end to it all. Suddenly –

"Glorfindel! No!"

He spun round as fast as he was able (mindful of the edge) and saw to his utmost astonishment Erestor standing there, clad in a lightweight shirt and leggings. His physical appearance was even more surprising than his sudden intervention – before now, Glorfindel had only seen the advisor wear robes, and heavy robes at that.

_What an odd thing to be thinking about just now_, he mused, before returning to the subject at hand. "Leave, Erestor. I do not wish you to witness this." He almost sounded bored.

Erestor wondered at the calm with which the seneschal spoke those words. "Do not do it, Glorfindel!" He knew that merely saying such a thing was not likely to change Glorfindel's mind, but it would delay him for a few more seconds, and buy Erestor some time to think.

The seneschal said nothing for a bit. Erestor, seeing this as progress, took a step forward to try to better reason with him.

Glorfindel took half a step back, his heel hanging over the roof's edge. "Come no closer, Erestor!"

_That_ stopped the dark-haired Elf completely, and Glorfindel turned back around to face the river.

Quick as a flash and silent as a ghost, Erestor came up behind him and, knowing he would only get one chance at this, flung his arm about the seneschal's waist. He began dragging them both away from the edge, and Glorfindel struggled unsuccessfully – they were equally matched in strength, but Erestor had better leverage and his bare feet gave him a better grip on the roof than Glorfindel's boots did.

The blond Elf flailed his right arm, trying to break away, but Erestor pinned it with his own and slowly but steadily they made backward progress.

"Why are you doing this?" Glorfindel growled as Erestor dragged him back towards the trapdoor that led inside.

"Why are _you_?" Erestor countered breathlessly – Glorfindel was putting up quite a fight.

"_You_ could not possibly understand," Glorfindel told him angrily, as Erestor pulled him through the trapdoor and began to head down the inclined ladder that served as a means of access.

Glorfindel tried to knock him away, knowing that this was his last chance at escape, but Erestor was more athletic than he had anticipated and would not be overbalanced. Indeed, he even managed to reach up and latch the trapdoor behind them while losing neither his footing nor his grip.

Once that was done, and both Elves were standing on the floor, Glorfindel again attempted to break free. Erestor let him, but quickly moved to stand in front of the locked door. He did not plan on letting the seneschal kill himself…

Glorfindel, turning towards the door and finding Erestor standing there, arms crossed, growled in frustration.

"Why could I not understand?" Erestor questioned quietly. _What has you so upset? Why would you want to take your own life?_

"You just… could not," Glorfindel answered hurriedly, and attempted to get around Erestor and to the door. The counselor easily blocked him at every turn. "Let – me – leave!"

"No." Erestor surveyed him almost warily. "I will not let you do it, Glorfindel!"

"It is not your choice to make!"

"Perhaps not," the counselor conceded. "But why would _you_ want to make it?"

"You could not know."

"Why?" he persisted, determined not to leave until he got an answer.

Glorfindel saw this, and realized that it was futile to resist. "You are not… you have not…" Oh, how to explain his feelings? How to explain the constant crushing sensation of despair that had been oppressing him ever since he had reawakened to this world? How to explain that this second life was hopeless, utterly so, and that he could no longer bear the weight of such sorrow?

There were no words to express it – there were _no_ words, but Erestor understood, somewhat. "I have not died?" he guessed, asking in an oddly gentle tone of voice, "Is that it, Glorfindel?"

Glorfindel made no answer – he wasn't quite sure what to say.

Erestor stepped closer. "Is that why I could not understand?"

Glorfindel was persistently avoiding his gaze, arms crossed and eyes cast towards the walls, the ceiling, anything but the advisor. At length, he nodded.

Erestor sighed. _Now what?_ He couldn't leave Glorfindel alone with his inner demons – he would probably try to kill himself again – but he didn't know how to help. After all, he _hadn't _died before, and neither had anyone he knew – except for Glorfindel.

"Are you sure I would not understand?" he asked, almost coaxingly. Glorfindel was silent, so Erestor continued, "Why not try to explain and see if maybe I understand it better than you think?"

"You would not," the blond Elf told him, so softly that Erestor almost did not hear.

"You cannot be certain of that," the counselor offered, and went on, "A problem shared is a problem halved, Glorfindel."

"That is not true," the other Elf replied, shaking his head. "Not in this case, anyway…"

_"Why?"_

A bitter laugh escaped the blond's lips before he could rein it in. "It is hopeless, Erestor, can you not see?"

Erestor's brows furrowed. "What is hopeless?"

"Life!" he exclaimed, turning away. He hadn't exactly meant to say that; it had just popped out of his mouth. Curiously enough, it made him feel slightly better…

'"Life, Glorfindel?" the counselor questioned incredulously as the seneschal began to pace.

"Yes, you know, existence, survival, the continuation of this endless impossible reality! It is _all_ doomed, just like every single one of us is! We are no more than the sum of our idealistic egos, teetering over the edge of the gaping abyss that is this world!" Out of breath, he stopped his rant and faced Erestor.

Shocked at the fact that someone could have such a bleak worldview, Erestor merely stared at him for several minutes. Finally, he asked, "How could you possibly know this?"

_"I have died!" _Glorfindel practically yelled, and then lowered the volume of his voice. Almost reasonably, but with more than a healthy dose of bitterness, he went on, "I have _died_, Erestor, and I find it infinitely preferable to living."

"I do not understand." _How can you think that way?_

"You do not have to," Glorfindel assured him with a small smile that was part forced, part bitter, and part reflective. "All you need to know is that I am doing this because it is what I genuinely want. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have unfinished business to attend to…" He turned back towards the ladder, hoping that the even tone of his voice had lulled Erestor into letting him go.

Erestor, however, was not so easily appeased, and Glorfindel cursed inwardly when the dark-haired counselor grabbed the back of his shirt, stopping him. "Leave me, Erestor."

"I will not," Erestor informed him, using his hold on Glorfindel's shirt to make the blond Elf face him. Briefly they locked eyes, and the seneschal's steely stare was an equal match with the counselor's determined if mildly frustrated gaze. It shocked Glorfindel, certainly, and for a moment he could think of nothing to say.

Erestor raised his eyebrows, observing this, and continued, "Explain, Glorfindel. Why would you rather be dead than alive?"

"Why should I explain to you?"

The dark-haired Elf cocked his head to the side, just a little. "Because I am not going to stop questioning you unless you do."

"Pah," Glorfindel shook his head, "I can withstand any badgering you might put me through." He even added a sneer, hoping to irritate the counselor into distraction.

"Me, perhaps," Erestor conceded serenely, arms crossed, "But what about Elrond?" He said it so lightly, so nonchalantly, that Glorfindel knew he had to have been planning it all along.

The seneschal's eyes narrowed. "You would not."

"I _would_." It was tempting, very tempting, to grin rather smugly as he said that, but Erestor held back, not wishing to make himself even more of an aggravation than he knew he already was.

"No," Glorfindel replied, more to convince himself than inform Erestor, "I know you. You would not."

"Think what you will," Erestor told him, "But perhaps you do not know things as well as you think you do."

They were getting off the subject, _far_ off the subject, but that meant delayed discussion of other issues, and Glorfindel much preferred it that way. "Fine, then. You can and will inform Elrond if your interrogation of me does not succeed, and I know absolutely nothing whatsoever. Now, _will you leave_?"

"No." He spoke the word almost glibly, with an ease that spoke of maybe innocence, maybe ignorance, maybe some odd Erestorish combination of both.

Glorfindel began to pace again, and his tone took a gradual turn towards pleading. "Erestor, I am asking you to _please leave. I do not want to get you involved in this. Please."_

The counselor's voice was remarkably soft, as he watched the seneschal pace. "It is too late, Glorfindel. I am involved already."

Still pacing, Glorfindel glanced at him. "You are not. You can still leave, and, quite frankly, I would rather you did."

Erestor raised an eyebrow. "I _could_ leave, yes, but then I would be partially responsible for your death."

Glorfindel laughed, bitterly. "_You_ would not be! You have nothing to do with this!"

Incensed, Erestor began to follow the blond as he paced. "I do too! I know what you are going to do, and if I fail to stop you then that makes me an accomplice!"

"I do not think of it that way," Glorfindel assured him, and sighed. Calmly, as though the counselor were a pupil and he an instructor, he went on, "Trust me, you are helping me by allowing me to do this…"

If anything, this had the opposite effect than intended and the dark-haired Elf grew agitated. "I am _not _allowing you to do this!" he nearly shouted. A thought occurred to him, and he calmed himself. "And why do you want to do it so badly?"

The blond Elf clammed up at that. "I have already explained it to you, Erestor."

"Not well."

A question came to Glorfindel's mind; he stopped his pacing and looked at Erestor. "Why are you so determined to find out?"

"Because I do not want you _dead_!"

"Too bad, Erestor! _I_ want me dead, and it is my decision to make!"

"It may _be _your decision, but no matter what you do, it impacts the rest of us! Do you even _realize_ that, Glorfindel?"

"Of _course_ I realize that!"

"Then why are you doing _this_?"

"Because, quite honestly, I do not care!" the blond spat, gesturing angrily and turning away. The fire quickly left his tone, though, and his stress was evident when he raised his hands to his head and began massaging his temples. "I just do not care…"

"I highly doubt that," Erestor snorted. "I think it more likely that perhaps you do not _want_ to care, but –"

"You are _wrong_, Erestor!" Glorfindel cut him off, exasperated. This was getting to the point where it no longer mattered to him _what_ they were arguing about – Erestor was becoming quite irritating and Glorfindel wasn't about to concede _anything_ to him if he could help it.

"Am I?" Erestor questioned quite calmly, curiously, even. "Really?"

"Yes!" The seneschal's voice was venomous.

"Hmmm…" Erestor began, resting his chin on his hand in a pantomime of a ponderance. "If you are truly so apathetic about it then why are you getting so angry?" As before, he spoke the words softly – to a casual observer they would have seemed almost a pleasantry – but there was a heavy undercurrent of provocation.

Glorfindel glared.

Erestor glared back.

Sighing in frustration, Glorfindel turned away. "All right, Erestor! Fine! I give up! Is that what you want to hear?" His words were the complete opposite of his tone, however, and Erestor was not deceived.

"No, Glorfindel, that is _not_ what I want to hear. What I want to hear is whether or not you still intend to kill yourself and why you wanted to kill youself in the first place," the counselor countered.

The seneschal stayed silent, and the room was noiseless for a long while.

At last, Erestor sighed, "Fine. I can see that this is going absolutely _nowhere_…" He trailed off, waiting to see how Glorfindel would react.

The blond said nothing, looked blatantly away. This went on for quite some time, and gradually the tension that had been building up inside him all day lessened, and his body became aware of just how late it was. Suddenly, with such an intensity that it was surprising that his jaw remained intact, Glorfindel yawned.

Erestor took notice. "It is late," he pointed out. "Sleep would do you good… you ought to go to bed, Glorfindel…"

Irritated, the seneschal made his retort. "I will go _nowhere_! Do not tell me what to do!"

"Stay here then," Erestor shrugged. "It does not matter to me…" He sat down on the floor then, back against the door. "I, however, am feeling rather drowsy and I think that I shall sleep… feel free to wake me if you have anything to say."

With that, he rested his head on his knees and drifted away into the dreamworld. Glorfindel opened his mouth and prepared to make an angry reply, but halted when he realized that it would be wasted on someone sleeping.

He stood there, glaring and irritated for a very long time, until he realized that it was pointless to glare, because Erestor would not see it. And then he realized – Erestor was _asleep. _Asleep as in not entirely aware of what was going on around him. Asleep as in Glorfindel could do anything except try to go through that door and there was a great chance that it would not be noticed…

_Hmmmm..._ He walked in front of Erestor, peered into his eyes. They were unfocused, and he waved a hand in front of them, trying to provoke a reaction. Nothing. _Good..._

Slowly, carefully, and even more silently than normal, he headed to the slanted ladder that served as access to the roof. He climbed one step, then two, then three. At the top he halted, and reached for the latch…

"_No!_" Erestor was up in an instant, standing at the base of the ladder. "Glorfindel…"

"We have already spent too much time discussing this, Erestor. Leave me be!"

Erestor, instead of protesting, merely sighed and gave Glorfindel a questioning look.

"What?" the seneschal finally asked.

The dark-haired Elf's voice was quiet, extremely so, and he sounded genuinely interested when he inquired, "Do you honestly want to do this, Glorfindel?"

"Yes." The answer was given without hesitation, but with less enthusiasm than there had previously been. Either Glorfindel was so tired that talking was a chore, or Erestor was making progress.

"Why?"

"Because there is no other way!"

"No other way to what?"

"No other way to end this… anguish…"

Erestor's brow furrowed. _Something is deeply wrong here… _He said nothing, however, and Glorfindel sat down on a step and began to explain.

"Do you have any idea how depressing, how totally and _utterly_ depressing," he began in an emotion-laden whisper, "it is to give your life for what you think is a final, noble cause? Do you realize how horrible it is to think that your sacrifice, that your _ultimate_, absolute sacrifice, actually accomplished something, only to find out that it did not matter? Do you have any clue as to how _meaningless_ that can make a person feel?"

Erestor, not sure what to say, merely shook his head.

"_I_ am meaningless, Erestor! I died for _nothing_! I died for nothing and I no longer wish to live…"

Not understanding, the advisor asked, "How are you meaningless?"

"The world is dark! Again, we are threatened by an evil power so great and terrible that he was not killed the _last_ time we vanquished him! Again, he will attempt to take over everything and kill or enslave us all! I _died_ in a war against a Dark Lord, Erestor, and I was stupid enough to think that perhaps his defeat would mean an end to such things! _My_ death – indeed, the deaths of everyone who fought against him – served no purpose whatsoever, and then I was brought back, _for nothing_!"

"You are wrong, Glorfindel." Erestor answered fervently.

"I do not see how…"


	2. Nowhere

Of course you do not see… this notion comes to me suddenly, though I suppose it should not surprise me after all the time you have spent in hiding – hiding from yourself, hiding from the world, hiding from the truth. You tried to hide from me as well – oh, you tried – but you could not. You could not…

I remain in doubt as to whether or not this has occurred to you yet, but _I_ know it – yes, I do. The problem, I imagine, is finding a way to make you realize…

I cannot tell you that I understand, because I honestly do not and I am growing weary of falsehoods and fabrications. I do _not_ understand, but I know. Oh, I know…

I know all too well.

* * *

Erestor's response was strangely calm, for all that he had spent this night embroiled in an argument with someone who was not inclined to listen. He thought a moment, with a cheerless half-smile on his face and an oddly distant look in his eyes, then shook his head. "No," he replied, as if realizing for the first time, "You do not." _How I wish you did…_

He stopped talking then, and stood a while, unsure of what else to say.

Glorfindel stared at him, thinking as well, though the counselor had no clue as to what about. Finally, perhaps to break the unpleasant silence that was bringing him into far too close of contact with the unhappy ideas inside his head, the seneschal spoke up, "Well, then, now that we have established that it _is_ utterly hopeless, will you leave?"

Erestor, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, chewed slightly on his bottom lip as he crafted a response. "It is _not _utterly hopeless, Glorfindel! Not for me, and certainly not for you! Surely you must have _some_ reason for living…"

The blond, staring at the walls – he was not entirely comfortable looking into the counselor's eyes, though he was not quite sure why – declared so softly that he was almost talking to himself, while wearing an eloquent and wholly honest smirk, "Believe me, Erestor, I know hopelessness. This is –"

The second part of the advisor's answer caught up with him, and he suddenly looked at Erestor, startled. "And I have no reason for living. That _is_ why I was up on the roof…"

Erestor was stunned. It shocked him beyond measure to hear something so despondent from someone who had never seemed so upset._ I cannot believe that! I must not… _Not if he hoped to help, anyway.

"Do you truly mean that, Glorfindel?" he exclaimed, "Does not this place, your part in it, your effect on the people here – does not –" his voice gradually grew in volume, and he was making sweeping gestures with his hands, something he only did when agitated, " – does not _any_ of it mean _anything_ to you!"

"It does, Erestor," Glorfindel sighed, fatigued. "Of course it does…"

He ran a hand through his hair, and went on, "But my job is easily filled, and my death cannot be mourned forever. I cannot live with this – this _life_ anymore! I _need_ to die, Erestor; I need to go back to those cold halls where there is nothing – happiness, sorrow, or otherwise – nothing save the endless numbing wait for the time when everything draws to a close."

Erestor decided that he needed to stop this kind of talk quickly, as it would doubtless only serve to further convince Glorfindel that killing himself truly was the answer to his problems. A sudden notion struck him – "Then why are you still alive?"

"What?"

Now that he had something to go on, the advisor's agitation calmed, and he began pacing back and forth – a habit _he_ engaged in to expend mental energy rather than burn frustration.

With an almost analytical attitude – it was a purely intellectual question, not meant to be provocative – he elaborated, "If things are truly as bleak and hopeless as you say, then why do this now? Why_ tonight? _Why not sooner, if this has been going on for all these years?"

Glorfindel merely stared at Erestor, wide-eyed and with more that a faint undercurrent of apprehension. He said nothing, however, and Erestor had just opened his mouth to speak when a knock sounded at the door.

"Glorfindel? Erestor? Are you in there?"

It was Elrond.

* * *

Elrond knocked on the storage room door, more curious than annoyed. It was well after daybreak, and though the seneschal and the advisor were _supposed_ to meet with him this morning, neither one had shown up.

With some people, this would hardly have been a cause for concern; however, Elrond knew that neither Glorfindel nor Erestor was irresponsible enough to leave without telling or to miss a meeting. So, he had gone looking for them, but the two Elves in question were not in their rooms, nor, indeed, in _any_ of the common rooms in the household. Neither were they outside anywhere in the immediate area, and finding them had indeed proven to be a challenge.

Eventually, though, Elrond had heard from one of the servants that voices had been heard from this room – not more than a closet, really – though the servant did not know just what said voices were discussing, and had not been inclined to eavesdrop in order to find out. _Elrond_ had been quite surprised to discover that the door was locked, but…

* * *

Erestor opened the door, squinting at the impossibly searing brightness of the daylight. He _had_ thought to bring a candle to illuminate the windowless storage room, but the hallway was far brighter, and it was a shock to his maladjusted eyes. "Elrond," he acknowledged, and then said the first thing that came to mind. "Is it morning already?"

The Elf-lord took in this rather… odd… statement, and noticed Glorfindel sitting on the inclined access ladder, his hand shielding his eyes from the light. "Have you been here all night?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow.

The two Elves exchanged glances with each other, and then Erestor shrugged, and offered, "I suppose we have."

The Elf-Lord also took in Erestor's strange appearance – barefoot, and not wearing the heavy robes that he was always seen in, even in the middle of summer. He had not seen the counselor dressed this way in _centuries… _A peculiar, faintly horrified look passed over Elrond's face as he mentally debated whether or not he _wanted_ to know why these two had spent the night locked in a dark room with each other.

The counselor, having some idea of just _what_ Elrond was thinking, hastily answered the unasked question. "We were discussing yesterday's reports," he supplied, taking on the scholarly and faintly lofty air that he normally carried and that completely and easily obliterated any and all traces of the night's attitude.

Perhaps, he thought, it was wrong to lie to Elrond, but he was not sure that he should spread news of Glorfindel's problems… not now, anyway, without really mentioning it to Glorfindel.

The seneschal was quite surprised at the cover-up, and it momentarily registered on his face, but Elrond's attention was focused on Erestor and so he did not notice.

"Yesterday's reports," the Elf-lord stated flatly, making it clear that this story was much less than plausible. "I see…"

Erestor nodded, unsure of how to respond, and Glorfindel unexpectedly stepped in, adding to the ruse. "It is easier to concentrate on the task at hand in a place that is free of distractions."

He, too, had taken on a different manner than the one he had previously been displaying. Now, his behavior was as it regularly was – serious but not overly so, and always benignly pleasant.

The seneschal's response also sounded less than plausible, but Elrond had more important things to discuss than the nocturnal goings-on between two of his advisors. There was obviously something more going on here, but as neither of them seemed to be in any trouble it was not for him to intervene. They were his friends, after all. If they made a habit of missing meetings he would chastise them for it, but for now he decided to drop the subject.

"Indeed," he said. "There are new reports for today – they just came in last night." The reports came from King Thranduil of the recently-renamed Mirkwood, and dealt with the growing darkness there.

Glorfindel spoke up a second time, to Erestor's surprise. "I know, Elrond – I have seen them." _He_ had been the one to receive the messenger, and had looked through the papers before placing them on Elrond's desk.

"You have?" Glorfindel's last statement had sounded far more truthful than the rest of the conversation, and elrond had no dout that he _had _actually seen the reports. Were that the case, perhaps the seneschal and the advisor actually had been working during the night. _Though why they felt the need to lock themselves in a storage closet to do so is beyond me, 'freedom from distractions' or no..._

"Yes, we have," Erestor told him. He was really quite good at telling bald-faced lies, perhaps because he was not the type of person one would usually suspect. "They were also a subject of discussion, and, indeed, the thing that kept us here so late. I am afraid that _I _must apologize for that, as it was my continued questioning that prolonged our conversation."

He was using bigger words than before, again becoming the scholar.

"Is that so?" Elrond was not sure he believed that statement, but oddly enough Erestor seemed to be sincere. He decided a test was in order. "Then tell me, what do you think of them?"

It fell to Glorfindel to answer this question, having been the one who actually saw the reports, and he climbed back down the slanted ladder and stood facing Elrond. "They are… most disturbing."

Erestor nodded his agreement, and Glorfindel continued, "We think that the best way to deal with this situation – as we currently do not know if it is something that can be solved merely by sending in soldiers to deal with it – is to keep in touch with both Mirkwood and Lothlórien, have a close watch on all that is happening _outside_ the borders of our realm, and encourage the others to do the same. Communication could be enhanced by regularly sending messengers between all three realms, with care given to secerecy, of course."

Elrond was quite surprised. "I was thinking of something to that effect myself…" he answered. "I was going to run it past the two of you in order to ensure that I was not overlooking anything, but since we have reached the same conclusion it appears that no further discussion is required. I shall write the necessary letters and send them out immediately." Pleased, he turned on his heel and left.

Several minutes passed in silence and the advisor turned to the seneschal. "What was in the reports, anyway?"

Glorfindel sighed depressedly. "Mirkwood is in trouble."

Erestor started to speak, something about the tower in the south of the wood, but –

Glorfindel shook his head. "It is _more_ than just a tower, Erestor. There are hordes of orcs roaming into Thranduil's realm, and the spiders have taken over everything but the area immediately surrounding his halls. He _tries_ to fight them off, but it never works completely as they are using the tower as their base."

"Thranduil will not let his kingdom fall," Erestor answered.

"I know that… _That_ is not what worries me. What worries me is that the rest of the world may soon be subject to the same torments as Mirkwood._ Of course _Thranduil will hold his kingdom, and when that happens, the Dark forces will begin to focus their attention elsewhere…"

He sounded so… troubled… as he said that, and something clicked in the advisor's brain. He turned an intense look upon Glorfindel then, shot through with a new awareness. "_That_ was it!"

"What?"

"That was the final straw – that was why you tried to kill yourself last night!"

A dark look took over Glorfindel's features. "Do not presume to tell me what was going through my head. You are _not_ me, and the last time I checked you could not read minds." He was massaging his temples as he spoke, a sure sign of strain.

Another idea occurred to Erestor – _perhaps even he does not know why he did it. Not completely, anyway…_There was more to this scenario than just the reports.

What to do, then? Continue to harangue, harass, and argue in the middle of a public place? Continue this elsewhere, where they were less likely to be overheard by someone who did not need to know? Or perhaps… do nothing at all?

That was, indeed, the question.


	3. Memories

What _do_ I do now? Yet another question among scores of questions that I could – nay, that I _should_ – be asking you. I should be pestering and pleading and even – Valar forbid – whining to make you open up to me, but I cannot. It seems unfair and wrong of me to force such talk upon you, and you would say nothing of import if forced, anyway.

As for yourself… you will not tell me of your own accord. You are too proud, I should think.

Too proud… or else too blind or too stubborn or too unwilling. Or any number of other things, as I think I am starting to realize. I thought that I knew your situation, that I knew _you_, but I am beginning to grasp how ignorant I truly am.

It seemed plain to me at first, some simplicity easily seen by a scholar or a soldier who thinks in black and white. Yet now…

Now what? It would be easy – too easy, and not accurate – to call you a shade of grey in my black-and-white brain, but even grey can be dealt with. Grey can be split, can be broken down into other, simpler things – grey is, after all, a mixture of black and white. You are not grey. No, you are something else…something else entirely.

And I? I cannot make you talk… but perhaps I can make you listen.

* * *

Erestor considered for a second, and turned to Glorfindel. "If I let you go now, what will you do?" he asked quietly. He still carried some semblance of scholarly bearing, and questions – regardless of the answers – would help him to organize his thoughts.

The inquiry took the seneschal by surprise – it was something he had not thought of – and he was silent for a bit before replying, with a shake of his head, "I honestly cannot say." He could not go through with his plans now, as it was daytime and somebody would see. He had no wish to horribly traumatize anyone in Rivendell. That was how he rationalized it, anyway...

Erestor's response took almost no thought. If he could not trust Glorfindel to be by himself - "Then you are coming with me." He took the blond by the upper arm, and began leading him away.

He expected the seneschal to resist, to put up a fight like that on the rooftop, but he did not. The blond merely followed as he was told, considering.

_What does Erestor think he is doing?_ As far as Glorfindel was concerned, there was nothing _left_ to the matter! What could the advisor possibly want?

They reached the counselor's rooms quickly, and Erestor directed (gesturing at the couch), "Sit." That would have seemed funny at any other time, as Erestor was quite stern about it and sounded like someone addressing a misbehaving dog.

"Why?" The resistance was back – Glorfindel saw no point in this exercise, and discovered that he really wanted to be left alone. He knew where this was going… _We have discussed this already! It is over with!_

"We are going to talk." The statement was blunt, delivered in a clipped, efficient tone of voice. That alone was enough to tip him off – Erestor was planning something. He could see it brewing behind the scholar's eyes.

"What about?" Glorfindel smiled as he spoke, as though this were merely small talk of the sort that accompanied afternoon tea. This marked his switch to a different strategy – if he kept replying like this, he would be able to keep Erestor from discussing that which he originally intended to. He could be distracted with ease, Glorfindel decided smugly, if one knew how to do it.

"You know what about." The counselor was quite serious. _Dead_ serious, in fact, and displaying a face so stoic it might have been made of granite. It bore an astonishing similarity to the face Elrond wore whenever the twins did something they should not have and he had to correct the matter.

If Glorfindel were to react in kind, the conversation would doubtless become far too deep, far too quickly for comfort. He was aware of this, and so kept the smile on his face and with the air of a fencer parrying an attack he shrugged. "All right then, we will. So tell me, Erestor, how did you know I was going to do it in the first place?"

This statement was less benign, less pleasant than the last one; his voice made it clear that this was a duel, though with words instead of weapons, and he intended to come out the winner. Indeed, he _expected_ it.

The dark-haired counselor blinked a moment in surprise, as it took that long for the full meaning of Glorfindel's statement to register. How odd of him, to just bring it up directly like that, when he had been avoiding talking openly for hours… and he was being glib. Too glib.

The counselor's eyes narrowed._ He is plotting something_. Erestor refused to be drawn into the ploy; _he_ was not what they were here to talk about.

"That," the dark-haired scholar declared loftily, "Is not important. The questions that I wish to know the answers to are these: what made you go up to the roof in the first place, and why you think that there is nothing here to keep you alive."

Glorfindel's smile grew obviously fixed, and Erestor instructed, beginning to pace, "You look nervous. Sit down; have some tea."

This rather mild statement was accompanied with a look that said that the seneschal had better do as told, and Glorfindel decided to save his opposition for something more worthwhile. Tea was hardly worth fighting over.

That did not mean that he was giving up – the blond Elf glared at the advisor even as he sat down. There _was_, strangely enough, a teapot and the necessary cups on the low table in front of him, but he did not care to drink. _What is he doing?_

_"Have some tea,"_ Erestor directed again, more forcefully. The ball was in _his_ court now and they were going to do this _his_ way. He'd _given_ Glorfindel a chance to tell him what was going on, but as the seneschal had refused he was going to have to revert to more drastic tactics.

Death was not the solution to the Glorfindel's depression – Elves were not brought back from the dead for no reason whatsoever; if he killed himself he might even be brought back a second time. _That would only make him more depressed…_

Rolling his eyes, his mouth pressed into a thin line that quite obviously said that he was growing weary of this, Glorfindel picked up a teacup. He held it in an iron grip, and did not pour any tea into it, still partially resisting. "I do not see why it is necessary to discuss this. I _have_ explained to you my reasons for doing what I did and I can assure you that I still believe in them."

Erestor laughed then, a strange cold light showing in his eyes, and the laughter was as bitter as it was unexpected. "Hah! You think that your life is bleak? Tell me, Glorfindel, what was your death like?"

The seneschal merely stared at him, startled by this sudden change in demeanor. He had not seen Erestor like this before, and did not know how to react.

"Was it quick?" the counselor continued, almost venomously, knowing that his attitude was having on Glorfindel. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and he had a few tricks up his sleeve.

The blonde merely looked at him, stone-faced and wide-eyed, as Erestor's words brought back the tortured, flame-scarred recollections of millennia ago.

* * *

_The air about him veritably boiled, the heat causing the ash-laden atmosphere to ripple and weave about the scorched and deadened mountainside. The demon, too close, far too close, roared again, and the already searing air was made even hotter._

_He had been fighting this thing for how long, now? He could not remember, but it had been long enough to turn his armor black with soot and reduce his shield to ashes. He was burned, too, his face red and blistering with more than exertion, more than heat. His armor felt like an oven, the mail links and plate protection painful to touch, now. The padding he wore under it was the only thing keeping it from burning the rest of his skin, and he did not know how much longer he could last._

_The balrog had to be killed, he knew, and he had to be the one to kill it. He stood a chance, he had survived this long. He could feel the heat of his burning armor now on his neck and back, going through to his skin. He was roasting in this metal shell – would he survive long enough to finish the deed?_

_That thought and only that thought raced through his mind as he frantically ran and dodged and looked for a way to bring down this hideous fire-beast. He – a tall and mighty warrior, the greatest of his house – was so small, and it was huge, a gargantuan flame-demon bent on trying to kill him._

_He doubted he would live through this, he had resigned himself to that, but he knew that what he did here on this mountain before he died affected many, many more people than just himself. He would die, but he would take the balrog with him._

_And then – there was an opening! A single well-aimed thrust of his sword, and then there was a horrible gush of molten blood that spewed and scalded him as he ran back from it, baiting the demon. The fiery whip caught him, then, and his legs were burned worse than before and it hurt, but that was not what mattered._

_The sword-thrust and subsequent injury had knocked the demon back, flailing against the discolored sky, and it roared in pain, but when it saw its attacker running, it had lashed out with the flaming whip and had leaned back even more, trying to draw the puny being in. It was too far – the balrog had overbalanced and now was tumbling over the edge of the mountain, falling to certain death along with the one who had, in effect, killed it…_

…_and as Glorfindel fell fatally into the open, soot-smeared air, he consoled himself, knowing that his sacrifice would save many other lives. He had done it. His death was useful.

* * *

_

"It was… horrible…" Glorfindel told him, with a shake of his head. The memories of it – the seared air and the seemingly endless fall – were as crystal clear as yesterday. His hand – the one holding the teacup – was quavering slightly, though he did not seem to notice.

"But was it quick?" Erestor repeated, insistent and more than a bit harsh. He needed the seneschal to see his point – it was necessary if he wanted this to work.

"I… suppose…" The fall had probably only taken a few seconds, but to him it had felt nearly as long as the eternity he had spent in the Halls of Waiting. He remembered falling and falling and staring at the wounded sky through clouds of soot and dust and ash, knowing that because of him the sky could again be blue… and then the ground had hit him and he knew no more.

The counselor's tone was rueful. "Then you had it lucky."


	4. A Tale

Your expression changes at those words… interesting. You look strange like that, uncomfortable, as though your clothes do not fit you correctly. I think that maybe we are finally getting somewhere. 

Or else I am just making you angry. But I know anger. Anger I can work with…

* * *

"You call _this _luck?" Glorfindel growled. "This-" here, he made an extensive gesture with his hand, illustrating his current disgust with the world in general "-is not _luck_!"

"You-" Erestor veritably spat, and shook his head, showing just how fed up he was becoming with the seneschal's behavior "-You think you know so much… Tell me, Glorfindel, what do you know of the Last Alliance?"

"I know _plenty_! It was a war that failed to overthrow the one who sits in the Dark Tower, lieutenant to the evil one that _I_ wished to defeat! It was a useless battle, as useless as my death and as useless as my resurrection!"

"Then you do not know enough!" This statement was practically shouted, and there was a keen furious gleam in the counselor's eyes, something utterly new that the blond, in his ire, failed to notice. "You think that _you_ know despair, that _you_ know death! You may have _died_, Glorfindel, but there are worse things in this world than dying, and there are certainly worse things than being brought back!"

"Like _what_?" His empty fist clenched, and the hand that was holding the teacup tightened so badly that the cup shattered. Glorfindel blinked, surprised, at that – he had not realized that he was holding it so forcefully. Erestor ignored it – there were plenty of teacups to be had, that one had not been special – and continued with his argument.

"Like being alive in a body that is as good as dead, like being _truly_ useless! You have known none of these things!" He stood still for a moment, glaring, to let his words sink in.

Glorfindel's eyes widened – this was new. He had never seen Erestor like this before – furious and righteous and determined, all at once - and he immediately decided that _this_ Erestor was not someone he wished to continue fighting with. _Time for a change of subject…_ "I have glass in my hand."

This was true – there were shards of the broken cup sticking out of his palm and some of his fingers, but his hands were so callused that he barely felt it. He was not bleeding, and indeed, he set about to picking the pieces out as Erestor resumed his pacing.

"You will live…" Erestor snorted dismissively. "But then again, you do not want that, do you? You, the mighty Glorfindel, who knows so much about everything that he can freely scorn the gift of a second life! Hah!"

Those words effectively managed to shred whatever calm Glorfindel had been pretending at. "Then _tell_ me, Erestor, what am I missing? What can you possibly know about despair that I do not? Tell me!" The distraction had not worked, and _he_ was angry, too – angry and cynical and willing to contest any words that came out of the advisor's mouth.

Erestor's eyes narrowed. "I fought with the Last Alliance in that ever-so-_useless_ – I believe that was your word, was it not? – battle."

"I was a warrior as well! So what? Spare me the platitudes about the grimness of a soldier's life Erestor – I do not care!"

"I speak of more than platitudes! You were not _there_, were you, on the plains of Dagorlad! You were not there when the Dark Lord went to war!" And thus he began his tale.

* * *

_Erestor stood in the ranks, waiting. All around him were the soldiers of Gil-Galad, ready to do battle. He himself – commander of a regiment – held his shield ready, protection for the archers to his right and left. The world was so still, so unbelievably still, in the eerie grey light that passed for day in this place, a reminder that true dawn would never come._

_So still, it was, as the soldiers stood to attention in their perfect, orderly files and waited. So still as the fiery mountain roared and sputtered and spewed in the distance, the only movement to be seen. So still, the soldiers and the soil they stood upon… so still._

_Suddenly, movement came from the mountain, shattering the semi-tranquility with shrieks and howls and all sorts of raucous calls accompanied by the heavy pounding of iron-shod feet. The orcs – a writhing mass of grey among the still grey landscape – were coming._

_They were coming and coming through the shadowy haze and then they could be seen clearly, from the hems of their filthy clothing to the glowing of their yellow eyes. Orders – coolly and carefully shouted in the odd morning-twilight – were given, and arrows were loosed. The first rank – little more than a rabble, really – of orcs fell, but there were thousands coming from behind. Thousands upon thousands rushed forward as another volley of arrows was loosed, and another._

_And then they were too close for arrows, and the Elven line charged. Erestor – his unit behind him – ran into the conflict, shield deflecting the black blades and maces and clubs coming ferociously at him from the front. With luck, the plates of his suit of armor and the mail he wore underneath would take care of things coming from the other sides, as he had better things to worry about. He dodged and slashed and stabbed and hacked, and orcs fell all around him. His shield was especially useful, as he could use it to knock the orcs back. They were little, and they were easy to toss away, for he was tall and muscular and strong._

_They were also hideously quick, but Erestor was quicker and he advanced far afield. Elven warriors were next to him, behind him, but the orcs were going after them too and soon he was separated. That was bad; he began fighting his way back to his allies and noticed that the orcs were not as disorganized as they had first seemed. A company of archers was aiming at his unit, and he yelled and ran and shoved enemies with his shield for all he was worth. But in the midst of the fray, no one took notice._

_He got to them in time to see them fall, and to feel something punch through the links of the mail coif at his neck. It grazed his flesh but did not pierce him – he was lucky. Not so for his allies, and most of them fell. The others were surrounded, and kept on fighting just as he did._

_They fought and fought, but they were all eventually broken apart and cut off from each other. In front of Erestor there was a nasty-looking orc carrying a falchion; behind him there was one with a spear and there were doubtlessly many more._

_Dimly, sometime during all this, he realized that his helm was gone and that the leather articulations to his right breastplates had been cut, leaving gaps for his enemies to exploit. He fought doubly hard, then, trying to take care of the one in front of him first. That orc fell, but then there was a crushing, blinding pain on the back of his head and he knew that he had been hit. He turned round, dazed but determined, to go after the one who had struck him, and then he felt something – it was probably a spear-tip, to hurt him as it did – strike him in the back. His plates, articulations gone from both sides now, were hanging loose, open to weapons, and he discovered this when he was again hit from behind. And again._

_He tried to fight back, to defend himself, but he was losing blood and he could not make his body do as he wanted it to. It would not move, his arms hanging limply and his legs threatening to give out. They did give out, just as an orc-sword came swinging for his head, and he was lucky to fall when he did – the blow missed._

_That meant little, however, as it would still be all too easy for them to run him through while he lay there on the ground. The one with the sword raised its weapon high –_

_- and fell on top of him, an arrow through its throat. Oropher's bowmen were at work. The other orcs fell likewise, and Erestor was buried underneath the pile of stinking, filthy, bleeding corpses. It was hard to breathe, and he noticed that his arms and legs had landed in an odd way, and he tried to move them and get himself un-buried, but he could not. He could only lie there, and be still as his world began to go black. So still…

* * *

_

"So you were injured," the seneschal snorted, "So what? We all have battle scars, Erestor – you are no different! If such things bothered you, you should not have become a soldier!"

Glorfindel was still angry, still harsh. The question for Erestor was how much of it was real and how much was pretend. There was only one way to find out – keep talking.

"Nay, Glorfindel, such things did not bother me," the dark-haired Elf shook his head, and continued calmly with his tale. "They did not bother me at all. I even reveled in them, on occasion. Until that day…"

* * *

_He awoke to a blackness caused by his closed eyelids, unsure of where he was. The first thing he noticed was how much of an effort it took to breathe, an effort made all the greater because he was tired._

_He concentrated on breathing for a while, gradually finding a rhythm that supplied him with enough air and kept him from complete exhaustion. Once he had that down, he worked on opening his eyes._

_This was harder to do, and he groaned faintly, expressing his displeasure with his uncooperative eyelids. By the time he got them open, there was someone standing over him, looking on with concern._

_"Erestor?" said person started. It was Elrond, and Erestor realized that he was not where he had been, was not in Mordor. It was Rivendell, most likely, as this room – well-lit, clean, rather nice woodwork on the ceilings – was beginning to look familiar. But that meant…_

_"How long… have… I been… out? What… happened?" It took a while to say that, and just trying to speak and breathe in between the words sent his head spinning. Dizzy, he was not even able to focus his vision on Elrond as he replied,_

_"You were badly wounded. One of Oropher's men found you under a pile of corpses – he thought that you were dead; you were barely breathing. You have been out for quite a while – I was beginning to wonder if you would wake up at all." Elrond sounded extremely concerned as he said that, and the dark-haired invalid grew worried – Elrond was used to taking care of the aftermath of battles; he should not have been so bothered._

_Erestor wanted to know more than what had already been said, wanted to know details, but had no more energy for talking. Elrond saw this, recognized the frustrated look in his dazed dark eyes, and went on, "You were hit in the back of the head; we had to shave off your hair to stitch you up."_

_Erestor nodded. He was not looking forward to being bald, but it was not as though he could do anything about it._

_The Half-Elf went on, "You were also hit three times in the back. A small wound here –" he pointed at the small of his back to clarify "– another small wound here –" just beside the first "– and a gash going from your right shoulder to your waist. I think that it was caused by an axe. The small wounds may have hit your spine."_

_This earned another nod from Erestor. What Elrond said made sense. He could not feel much right now – he was probably under the influence of a heavy dose of pain medicine – though the back of his head did ache._

_Elrond, not yet done, went on, "When you fell, and the others landed on top of you, you broke your left leg and three of your ribs. The bones have not healed yet, though they should have, because your body is currently too weak to let them heal. You will not be able to move around for some time."_

_A third nod. Right now, Erestor did not want to move around. He wanted to sleep…involuntarily, his eyelids began to close, and Elrond instructed, "Get some rest, Erestor. You need it…"_

_000_

_He awoke again much later, pleased to discover that it was no longer as difficult to breathe or see. Not only could he keep his eyes open; he could focus them, as well. How lovely…he merely lay still for a while, enjoying the peace._

_Not for long, however, as Elrond was soon standing over him and Erestor was now able to fully see the worry lines etched on his once unlined features. Before the warrior could even say anything, Elrond asked, anxiously, "Erestor, tell me, can you move?"_

_"What?"_

_"Can you move your arms and legs?"_

Of course I can move my arms and legs!_ he wanted to say – it seemed like such a stupid question. However, Elrond was not in the habit of asking stupid questions, and something in his voice made Erestor test his limbs, to make sure._

_He tried to raise his hand up, to wave it in his friend's face and assure him that everything was fine, but… he could not._

_He gritted his teeth and tried again, concentrating all his willpower, all his energy on making his hand move._

_Nothing._

_He tried the other hand. Nothing again. Panting from the effort, he looked at Elrond, panic flaring wildly in his eyes. "I cannot move!"_

_The Elf-Lord's brows furrowed. "I was afraid of that. We changed the bandages on your wounds earlier. It should have been painful, but you did not react... it was as though you did not feel it."_

_That was true – Erestor had attributed it to a medicine-induced stupor, earlier, but now that he was paying attention, he did not feel… right. He could sort of feel the blanket that he was underneath, sort of feel the mattress he was on top of, but not really, and not everywhere. His feet, and the majority of the area on his legs, as well as the lower parts of his arms, were numb._

_"What – what has happened to me?"_

_Elrond shook his head. "The wounds you took… I have seen this happen before."_

_Dread freezing his already-frozen body, Erestor managed to ask, "And the people… do they get better?"_

_"Sometimes…"_

_The warrior breathed a sigh of relief. So then this would not be forever – he could not even imagine living that way._

_"Sometimes not. I cannot make you any promises, Erestor."_

_"So I could be stuck like this!" He was panicking again, breath coming shorter and faster than was normal, and had he been able to move he would have thumped his fist on the bedcovers for emphasis. He could not, of course, and it only added fuel to the fire. "I could be this way for the rest of my life?"_

_Spending eternity unable to move – "No, Elrond! No! There has to be something that can be done –"_

_Again, the half-Elf shook his head. "I do not know." This worried him, too, nearly as much as it did Erestor. He put his hand on his friend's shoulder, and began, "But… I can tell you this much. I have seen this sort of thing happen in battles – a warrior takes a blow to the head or the neck or the spine, and then perhaps he cannot feel one leg, or his arm does not move right, or even, as in your case, he cannot move at all. This happens to mortals and immortals alike, but nearly every Elf I have seen afflicted with it has healed, eventually."_

_"Eventually? Elrond, how long is this going to last?" His voice broke, saying that, and he sounded desperate. Desperate and frightened and angry, all at the same time._

_The most Elrond could do was stay calm, and hope that that would help. "I do not know."

* * *

_

"And?" The seneschal was still holding onto his callous attitude, mostly because he knew that doing so would keep the conversation on this topic and away from him – he could tell where this was heading. "You obviously got better. Why should I care?"

Truth be told, he did not believe in what he was saying – he had never known Erestor to be a warrior, would never have guessed it at all. The advisor was bookish to the extreme, always found buried in some dusty tome or studying something equally tedious and trivial. That _he_ could have been a soldier – indeed, in charge of a _group_ of soldiers – was an utterly foreign idea.

Strange as it was, it was beginning to make Glorfindel think. He did not wish to, however, and knew that the easiest way to avoid it was to keep Erestor talking. Talking and hopefully angry… but to do that, Glorfindel had to keep the conversation going. He knew of a way…

Erestor – currently raising an eyebrow and looking at him in a way that was either analytical or disbelieving or haughty – was going to hate him forever for this – it was mean. Very mean. Right now, though, Glorfindel was too occupied with the here and now to think about forever, and if he had his way, forever would not be much longer…

Reasoning thusly, he opened his mouth and began a reply.


	5. Fight

You _are_ angry now. How interesting… I believe that I am doing my job. 

I _have_ to make you angry – that, I think, is the only way I can get through to you now. It does seem to be working. Your voice has risen, you caution has virtually disappeared, and you, my friend, are being rude. Very rude.

Not that bad manners from you would bother me, at this point – I am prepared to take nearly anything that you can dish out. I know that it is for a good cause…

* * *

"You are making light of my death!" Glorfindel declared furiously, rising from his seat. 

"How so?" Erestor raised an eyebrow. He did not sound even remotely interested, despite his question, and it only angered the seneschal more.

"Your _lies_ suggest that it is not a matter of import to you. If you can so freely-"

The advisor broke in, softly. "Lies?" _What lies?_

"You know perfectly well! You little _story_ – it was a lie, was it not?"

The dark-haired Elf merely stared at him, puzzled. His arms were threaded in the sleeves of his shirt – a habit from one who was used to heavy robes – and, indeed, he looked so mild-mannered that it was quite difficult to picture him as a warrior.

"_Really,_ Erestor!" the seneschal spat, "_You_ are no soldier! Dormouse, more likely…" he muttered, quietly but with every intention of being heard. With luck, the other Elf would take the bait.

Erestor, however, was not so easily provoked. Words were only words, and all the insults in the word were not going to rile this scholar. Not from Glorfindel, anyway…not right now.

"You are angry," he observed, blandly.

"Of course I am angry! Falsehoods of that magnitude should only be told to children or the elderly mad! That you would say such a thing to me means that you are seriously lacking in respect for my situation and -"

_Good…_This was real anger, now, not the false fury from before, and Glorfindel seemed at last to realize that he _did_ have a problem on his hands. Using this to his advantage, Erestor made a wholly unexpected offer. "Would you care to fight me?"

Both Elves were tired – neither had really gotten any sleep during the night – and a sparring match was one of the last things Erestor wanted right now, but through it he could wear Glorfindel down – he _was_ practiced enough to put up a decent fight – and hopefully get him to confess the reasons behind his actions.

If, that is, Glorfindel accepted… at the moment, though, he was too stunned to say much. "Fight you?" the blond asked, "What for?"

Knowing Erestor, this was a trick, and the seneschal did not consider himself that gullible. Disdainfully, he crowed, "I have never even seen you _pick up_ a blade! I highly doubt you know how to wield one!"

As if in reply, a sudden spark adding to the gravity in his eyes, the advisor walked to a trunk resting under the window and from it retrieved an object that Glorfindel saw was a sheathed sword. The simple fact that it had been packed away was enough to tell of its disuse, and the seneschal was about to inform Erestor of this (in an appropriately scathing manner) when the dark-haired Elf began to speak.

"Think what you will, Glorfindel. But-" here, he glanced pointedly at the remains of the teacup, lying placidly on the low table. " – it would be healthy way for you to vent your frustration, as I have no wish to lose any more teacups. I _am_ rather fond of tea, you know."

He stepped in closer. "Though...I do not know that it will be a good match. If I truly am no soldier, my reflexes will be rusty…"

Erestor then leaned forward, almost touching the blond, and continued in a conspiratorial sort of whisper, "And who knows? My hand could slip, and then you would have your wish…"

His narrowed eyes regarded Glorfindel's searchingly for a moment, gleaming. "Fetch your blade."

A few minutes later and they were both on one of the practice courts, swords unsheathed. Glorfindel was practically growling in his ire, and Erestor was thinking, and trying mightily to resist the urge to smirk. He remembered days when he would have given anything for this…

* * *

_Existence was suffering._

_He had been like this for weeks or months or years – he did not know anymore, did not care. He could tell the changing of the seasons by the different types of light that struck the wall of his room, and the times of day that the light came, but he had stopped keeping track of which days were which long ago. There was no point._

_Elrond was kind to him, offered every day to take him somewhere other than this room, this miniscule, claustrophobic, hideous room, but Erestor always declined. What point was there in going somewhere else, in seeing the trees or the flowers or the snow, when he could not interact with his environment, could not move anything besides his head and neck?_

_What had he become? He used to be a warrior, a practiced fighter with reflexes faster than sight and the muscle to back them up! Now, all the muscle was wasted away, the reflexes long gone, replaced with numbness. He was a stick, a vegetative stick, and he hated it! Oh, how he hated it!_

_Every day, he tried to move and every day he met with the same failure. Every day he had visitors who came in and tried to console him, and he hated their pity. He hated this, he hated his life, and he wanted it to be over._

_Give him death! He craved release from this prison, whatever form it took! Ten thousand years of blackness in Mandos' Halls was better than this, infinitely better, and had he had any way of doing such a thing to himself he would have. He hoped to fade, to dim his spirit into non-existence, to go to sleep and never wake up._

_Every dawn he was met with the same disappointment. Another day to live, another day to carry on, trapped in this shell of flesh. He wanted it to end!_

_He told this to Elrond, over and over again, as Elrond visited him every day. Later, Erestor would realize just how much that meant, for Elrond was busy. Yet, he came to see Erestor, even though Erestor was bitter and only served to add more worry lines to his already furrowed forehead._

_Always, Erestor asked why he was still alive, why he did not fade… the Elf-Lord did not know why Erestor was not dead yet, but he knew that it would happen. He was wasting away and miserable and soon his spirit would leave his body. Every day Elrond expected to find him dead, and every day he was still alive._

_It was a mystery.

* * *

_

The dark-haired Elf shook his head to clear it, putting an end to his reminiscing. He needed to concentrate. The duel had begun.

Glorfindel made the first move, a thrust, and it was quickly blocked. He expected Erestor to attack him, but the advisor did not.

The seneschal continued his attacks. They all were knocked aside, or evaded, but never countered. He felt his suspicions deepen - the story must actually have been a ruse, or Erestor would have been fighting back. Glorfindel slowed down slightly, marring his form just a bit, to see if Erestor would take the opening and attack.

The advisor, though, remained entirely on the defensive. He needed a moment to get himself back into this, and anyway it would be easier to tire Glorfindel if all the seneschal could do was attack him.

Eventually, the fight fell into a rhythm, and he allowed his mind a bit of a departure.

* * *

_"I cannot live like this, Elrond!"_

_It had been years since the battle, countless years, and Erestor was past his limit. "I cannot do this anymore!"_

_"I can do nothing about that, Erestor. I am sorry," Elrond told him._

_"Yes you can!" the invalid exclaimed, more animated than he had been in weeks – this was important, very important, and he needed to get that across. "You can kill me!"_

_"Erestor, I cannot-"_

_"You can! You are a healer! Surely you possess something that is toxic, if given in the right quantities!"_

_The Elf-Lord sighed, heavily. He did not know how to help Erestor, how to shake him out of this omnipresent black mood, but he knew not to give in to his request. "Let me rephrase myself, Erestor. I will not."_

_Erestor's face took on a hurt expression. Elrond was not usually this stern towards him. "Elrond…"_

_The Half-Elf shook his head._

_"Elrond, please! Please, Elrond. I cannot live this way…" He was desperate, now, begging for a way out. He had never begged before in his life…_

_Elrond raised an eyebrow, observing this. He felt sympathy for Erestor, yes, but death was not the answer, and his voice had a sad sort of kindness to it when he replied, "You can, Erestor, or you would not be alive right now."_

_Their eyes locked, Erestor's brown ones depressed and determined and beseeching, yet having no effect on the Elf-Lord's cool grey gaze. "I want to die."_

_"No."_

_Erestor began a reply, but Elrond broke in, "If that were truly, truly what you wanted, you would be dead by now. You must have some hope left, somewhere, or else you would have faded."_

_He took in the other Elf's sad visage. "Some hope," he repeated, "Some hope, Erestor, you have to…"_

_Erestor merely shook his head.

* * *

_

The fight continued, and Erestor remained devoted to his defense. He knew how this worked, and knew that this match would not be won quickly, would not be won through an offense, no matter how quick or coordinated or complex.

This fight would be won through waiting – waiting would wear the seneschal down, and waiting was something he was quite practiced at. He had experience in it, after all…

* * *

_"Elrond…"_

_"No." How many times had they had this discussion, now? How many weeks had it been since the idea had first entered Erestor's head that death was the solution?_

_It had been very long, and Elrond was nearly grateful for the warrior's paralysis – it prevented him from taking his own life._

_"Erestor," he began, starting what was by now a familiar lecture, and as such was generally paid very little heed. "You put so much energy into this… this death wish of yours – why not put it towards something useful?"_

_Erestor, as usual, was irked by that comment, and made the usual retort. "There is nothing useful that I can do, Elrond!" he exclaimed, and it was more than just argument for argument's sake – he truly believed that he was useless, and this view had influence over the whole of his thinking. "Look at me!"_

_He was like a child's illustration, stick thin and so pale that it made his dark hair and eyes look as though they had been drawn by black ink sprung up from an Elfling's pen. He was laid out like such a drawing, as well, splay-limbed and unmoving._

_"I see you," Elrond replied, in a neutral tone of voice. He knew this had to be particularly hard on Erestor, as someone who was used to having his body do as he wished, used to moving freely and being strong. A warrior would not take kindly to immobility._

_Nor would he take kindly to pity, Elrond thought, and pity was something he refused to give. Erestor could heal, he was sure of it, though he did not know how long it would take to come about, or whether said healing was influenced by mind as well as body._

_"I see you," he repeated, musing over what to say next. "Erestor… you must look to recovery."_

Recovery?_ That word was practically foreign to Erestor, now – it had been so long; surely he would have already gotten better if such a thing were possible. He would be trapped like this forever if he did not find a way to end it._

_"No, Elrond…" he spoke softly, weary and unhappy and not wanting to exist anymore, "I have given up." With that statement, he shifted his gaze and proceeded to stare blankly at the ceiling._

_Elrond's brow furrowed. "That does not sound like Erestor the warrior speaking... I must admit, I do prefer him to Erestor the hopeless invalid."_

_Erestor shot him a look, surprised and slightly hurt. "It is not necessary to insult me, Elrond…"_

_The Elf-Lord's face was as impassive as ever. "I speak the truth. Have you tried moving lately?" he inquired in a rather casual tone of voice. The look on Erestor's face was all the answer he needed. "Well, try again."_

_Erestor sighed, and rolled his eyes at the futility of it all. Eventually, though, he did as Elrond asked, and tried again. Hs arms were as immobile as ever, his legs were, too, but when it came to his feet, and he put forth as much effort as he could – effort that left him tired and breathless, afterwards – one toe moved._

_It was the small toe, on his left foot, one that he had broken ages ago when he was still learning how to fight – it was crooked, now, but it moved._

_That small achievement was more than he had been capable of in weeks, and he stared in wonder at his feet. He could move! Not much, at all, but still – he was capable of moving his toe, and with luck his other limbs might follow.

* * *

_

Erestor kept up his defense as Glorfindel continued his attacks. The advisor was quite skilled at evasion, and made no moves that were even remotely aggressive.

This fight, meanwhile, was beginning to frustrate Glorfindel – every time he was sure of landing _something_, every time he was just about to add a theatrical tilt to his sword and gloat that Erestor was not a warrior, after all, it were as thought the advisor simply _was not there_ – he was a few paces to the left, or further back than he had been, or _anywhere_ that he most definitely had not been a few seconds ago.

Yet, he did not attack – he preferred to back away, and the seneschal wondered why.

* * *

_Gradually, over the course of several months, Erestor's limbs revived themselves, and he was again able to move. It made him unbelievably glad – gone was the brooding invalid who had nursed a death wish, replaced with a happy Elf that was almost constantly half-smiling._

_This new freedom was not without its frustrations, however – Erestor had to relearn everything. How to comb his hair, how to eat, how to walk… the latter was by far the most difficult, as his leg muscles were incredibly weak and did not like to do as he wished them to. He spent months teetering about the house with no shoes on (he needed bare feet to keep a solid grip on the floor), more like a baby than a man. Indeed, in some things Elrond's twin sons – at less than a year old – were better than he, but Erestor never gave up._

_It was hard, so hard, but he put all his effort into it because now he had hope; he had hope and he wanted to be himself again. Right now, he could barely walk but someday – someday he would again be a warrior.

* * *

_

The fight continued, with more attacks from the blond and more evasions from Erestor. Glorfindel was growing tired of it, and questioned, disdainfully, "Why are you not attacking? I doubt you know how to wield that blade, after all…"

"I can assure you that I do," he answered, not rising to the bait. "But there are other ways of winning a fight…" He cleanly sidestepped another sword thrust as he spoke, and Glorfindel decided that this was really getting on his nerves.

"You are a dishonorable _liar_!" he spat. "You never fought before in your life! You made up that story in a pathetic attempt to trick me into telling _you_ my deepest thoughts and worst of all you do not even have the courage to admit that you are lying!"

Quick as flash, so quick the seneschal did not even see it, his sword was flung away and the tip of Erestor's blade was underneath the blond Elf's chin.

"Now do you believe me?" Erestor spoke the words through clenched teeth, so quietly that only an Elf could have heard them, but he was serious, and his statement was laced with anger and not-so-well-concealed provocation. This had gone far enough – he would not be called a coward. He was getting rather fed up with Glorfindel's cynicism and wished for it to stop.

"Or shall we fight again?" He did not like being called dishonorable, either. The counselor in him was willing to put up with very many things, but the warrior begged to differ. Perhaps the warrior was better suited to this, anyways…

"Why do you not move, Glorfindel?" They were glaring at each other down the length of the blade, the rage in the seneschal's blue eyes set equally against the anger ignited in the advisor's dark ones. Erestor was still speaking quietly, teeth still clenched.

The seneschal was seething, breathing hard and looking very much like he wanted to reply to that, yet he said nothing. This was a surprise…

Erestor's eyes narrowed. "Go on, then. Do it. Step forward and run yourself through, if you want it so badly."

Glorfindel's eyes narrowed too, almost imperceptibly. "No," he growled, and stepped to the side. He reached forward, and with the edge of his hand struck a spot on the advisor's arm – a nerve – that forced him to let go of the blade, and then they were at it again, grappling and striking and blocking.

This time, Erestor did attack – he remembered this, remembered forcing the recognition of techniques and drill and patterns that he had once had down into weak and useless muscles. He remembered the bruised days, the days when it had hurt to move and he could barely walk in a straight line, but he had _made_ himself do this, forced himself to fight and fight against the invisible enemy. He had fought and fought and drilled and trained and tested himself, and yet it was never the same.

He was never like the old Erestor, never the warrior, never as quick or as sharp or as strong. The others – Elrond, and the like – who sparred with him did not notice, did not understand that by whatever marginal increment it was that he was _dulled_, and could not comprehend his frustration.

He no longer enjoyed it, this practicing for war. No longer did he relish the hours spent, aching and sweaty, swinging a sword until even the lightest of Elven blades seemed to weigh as much as Barad-Dûr itself. Eventually, sad and resigned and miserable, he had given it up. Given it up and donned the stiff, conservative robes of a scholar and made a home and a name for himself in the library, ordering himself to be content with merely reading the tales of warriors, with listening to the guards' reports.

It had stuck, and he became resigned to the fact that this was his lot in life, _this_ – the dusty books and boring reports and requisitions – was all he had. It was all he had, and it was horrid. He had suppressed that feeling, though, compressed it into a little, inconsequential idea somewhere in the back of his mind, and he tried not to think about it again.

Neither of them, during this fistfight, took a hit, but neither of them landed one, and Erestor managed to feel slightly smug that he was still as flexible as he used to be when the seneschal grabbed him by the side of his shirt, and tried to trip him up, and he evaded by twisting out of the garment altogether.

He ended with his back to the blond, and looked over his shoulder when Glorfindel did not resume his attack. The seneschal was standing there, stock-still, the forgotten shirt hanging limply from his hand. He was staring and Erestor, having a good guess at what about, turned his head away.

"Ah, yes… those. It has been over a thousand years, and I still remember them."

One hand pointed to a small, rectangular scar on his back, faded to white with time. He knew its location from memory, and he also knew its cause.

"Spear," he explained, still turned away. "This one –" a nearly identical wound, on the other side of his spine, "-also a spear. Here-" the line, going from right shoulder to the left side of his waist "- axe. At least, as near as I can recall. This one –" his hand moved to the side of his neck, to a small, feathery line that was barely noticeable. "-arrow. It missed me."

He turned around to face Glorfindel, who opened his mouth to say something, but Erestor spoke first. "That is not all."

He leaned over, letting his long black tresses fall so they nearly touched the floor, and parted the hair on the back of his head, revealing a jagged line where he was bald. "That one is what disabled me."

He straightened up, looked Glorfindel in the eyes, and continued, with surprising levity, "At least, that is what I like to think. It is a mite more honorable than being stabbed in the back, is it not?"

The blond merely stared at him, stunned. At length, he noted, sounding dazed, "You were not lying…"


	6. Finding

At last.

At last I seem to be getting through to you, to be piercing the barriers with which you have surrounded your mind. I sincerely hope that I am, at least, as I am beginning to tire and if this fails I do not know what else to do.

Indeed, I barely know what to do even now. I _must_ find a way to punch through your defenses, to get inside your head and figure out exactly what is going on, but I find that as I have gotten past the initial stages of my original plan I am at a loss as to how to proceed. I would like a moment of respite, a moment in which to think, but I know that I have not the time to formulate a plan. Were I to take the time necessary any small progress I have made would be erased, any opening in your defenses, sealed - and I am not foolish enough to think that what I have done here would work a second time.

In the absence of ideas, all I can do is soldier onward. Soldier onward and hope that I succeed.

* * *

"No," Erestor answered, retrieving his sword, "I was not." He moved more slowly now, energy from the fight dimmed and gone. He was unused to such confrontations, to being riled as he had, and it was hard to stay incensed. Eventually he picked up the weapon and stood facing Glorfindel, who as of yet had made no move to recover his own blade. He merely stood, silently staring at the floor.

Glorfindel was not silent out of anger or spite - he truly did not know what to say. He had, over the course of their argument convinced himself that Erestor had to be lying, and the discovery that he spoke the truth was wholly unexpected and, really, a rather nasty shock. He suddenly felt very, very small, and even more useless, and stared at the floor because he could not bring himself to look Erestor in the eyes.

The dark-haired Elf held out a hand. "If you would, please..."

Glorfindel looked up briefly, confused. "What?"

Erestor gave a somewhat embarrassed half-smile. "My shirt." He was beginning to feel uncomfortable without it; Erestor was not normally in the habit of keeping so much of his skin exposed.

"Oh." The seneschal had entirely forgotten that he was still holding the garment. He handed it to Erestor. "Here."

"Thank you." Erestor quickly put it back on, and Glorfindel's gaze returned to the floor. Neither of them spoke for several minutes - both Elves were weary, the fight having robbed them of both mental and physical energy. Neither of them had the capability to formulate an argument; neither of them wanted to. Glorfindel wanted merely to be left alone, and Erestor wanted very much the same.

With a sigh, Erestor picked up the seneschal's sword and handed it back to him.

"Will you let me go, then?" Glorfindel questioned quietly, eyes at last meeting. They held a pleading expression which was not lost on the advisor, but he was still unwilling to give in to what the seneschal wanted.

The morning was growing late, yes, and they both probably had worked that needed tending to... but this issue was far from resolved and he did not trust Glorfindel to be left alone.

Some of this must have registered on his face, for the next thing that Glorfindel said - in the same soft voice as before - was, "I will not do it now."

"What about later?"

He shook his head. "I honestly do not know."

It took no time to reach a decision. "Then I cannot let you go."

"Erestor, _please_ just let me be alone?" He lacked the energy to put his full force behind the argument; even then it would not have been effective.

Erestor sighed again. "You know that I cannot. You know that I will not."

Glorfindel took a step forward, beginning again to feel frustrated with all this, but Erestor moved, effectively blocking the door. "_No_, Glorfindel. No."

"Erestor-" the seneschal began, but the advisor cut him off with a look. It paused Glorfindel's argument for a moment; he thought, and then began again. "Erestor, _please._ I assure you that I _will not_ do it now."

A question occurred to the advisor. "Why?"

"Why?"

Erestor raised an eyebrow, feeling some of the frustration as well. "Why _not_ now?"

Again, Glorfindel paused. He was hesitant to speak to Erestor of his thoughts... but then, revealing them might gain him some solitude. He sighed. "Because... it is day, now. Were I to take my life now, someone would see it, and that..."

Erestor's brow furrowed. "That what?" His tone was gentler now than it had been before.

A slightly bitter smile flitted across Glorfindel's face. "...that would cause more trouble than is necessary." It was better, far better, the seneschal thought, to slip away unnoticed.

That Glorfindel had created such a distinction came as a surprise to Erestor, though, he supposed, he should have realized it. Glorfindel had had a sharpened sword during their fight - he _still_ had a sharpened sword - but he had made no move to use it against himself, despite the fact that he had had plenty of opportunity to do so.

That he had not was important, and, to Erestor, a good sign. With a sigh, he stepped aside, leaving the doorway wide open. With a nod, Glorfindel stepped forward to make his exit, though as he did so, Erestor cautioned, "Do not think that I have forgotten this."

* * *

The next time that Erestor saw him was that night at dinner. In the presence of other people, Glorfindel was as he normally appeared - smiling, and pleasant. Erestor noticed, though, that the smile did not entirely seem to be genuine, and when he managed to make eye contact with the seneschal it disappeared altogether for a moment, before being forced back into place.

As the meal ended Erestor knew that he could no longer leave Glorfindel by himself - the hour was growing late; other Elves would be retiring. Rivendell would be asleep and that meant that if Glorfindel were to do something, he would do it now. When the seneschal excused himself from the table, Erestor did the same, and followed.

He kept his distance, or so he thought, until they reached Glorfindel's rooms, at which point the seneschal turned around. "Erestor, what-?" He sounded more exhausted than aggravated, which made sense as he had not had any sleep for at least the past two days.

Erestor was weary, as well, but he tried to ignore that - he would doubtless be spending the majority of the night awake again. "I am not going to leave you by yourself, Glorfindel."

The seneschal did not even bother to resist. He merely opened the door.

Once they were inside, Glorfindel wearily gestured to the chairs and couch. "Have a seat."

Erestor did so, picking the couch, and Glorfindel chose a chair on the opposite side of the room. The two Elves sat in silence for a very long while, Erestor's eyes on Glorfindel and Glorfindel's eyes on the floor. They both seemed to be waiting for the other make some sort of a move, but neither one did. The standoff lasted nearly an hour, at the end of which Glorfindel was even wearier than he had been before.

At length, he began, "Erestor..."

The other Elf said nothing, but he raised his eyebrows, attentive.

Glorfindel spoke slowly. He was exhausted, and his head was beginning to hurt. It was the sort of headache one usually encounters after spending too long reading a large book in a dim room, or playing strategy games against a smugger and greatly superior opponent, and it made it more difficult for him to focus, and to put into words that which was going through his head. "Why... why does this concern you so greatly? Why do you stop me from doing this?"

Erestor spoke slowly too, though not out of weariness. They had already discussed this subject; he failed to understand how it could be anything less than clear. "Because I do not want you to die, Glorfindel. That is why I stopped you last night, and that is why I will not let you get into such a situation again."

"How did you know I was going to do it, last night?" Glorfindel spoke the words faintly.

That question, as it had before, gave Erestor pause. This time, though, he knew that asking such a question was not a diversionary tactic on Glorfindel's part - the seneschal wanted to know and he did indeed look so miserable that Erestor desperately wanted to give him an honest answer.

How had he known? How had Erestor known that Glorfindel's purpose last night had been to take his own life, how had he known where to find him?

_I have been watching you..._ he wanted to say, but that was not entirely accurate - that implied constant surveillance, something in which Erestor had not been engaging. He _had_ been aware of the situation, though that was through no effort of his own. He _knew_ what was going on, but he knew that like he knew the other facets of a friend's personality - incidental observations in the same category as favorite color and favorite food, that had taken no conscious effort to record - he _ just knew._

Glorfindel sighed, having given up hope of receiving an answer. Fate seemed to be conspiring against him, today. "Never mind."

Erestor, deep in contemplation, had not paid attention to that statement. "You... you seemed troubled, yesterday," he finally offered, softly. He was the one looking away, now, lost in thought.

This came as a surprise to Glorfindel; he had taken pains to ensure that no one knew of his feelings. The shock showed on his face; he said nothing.

This silence caused Erestor to feel the need to elaborate, and he was so lost in his own musings that he did not notice Glorfindel's surprise. "You have seemed troubled often, of late...but... yesterday it was worse..."

He took a breath. "I know that I had not spoken to you of it before, but I felt that it was not something into which I should pry..." He was beginning to wish he _had_ pried, now. "... yet yesterday you seemed different than before - something did not seem right - so I sought you out, to talk to you, and instead I found you on the roof."

"You knew..." Glorfindel whispered, talking to himself, barely able to believe it. "You knew."


End file.
